


The Nucleus Burning Inside of the Cell

by Sineala



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 3490
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Dancing, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Kree (Marvel), News Media, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-16 14:27:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9276041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: Steve's had a hopeless crush on Natasha Stark for years, but the rumors in the headlines about their passionate romance are just that: rumors. He knows he'd never really have a chance with her. But when the rumors become harder to ignore, the only way out is to give in, and Steve and Natasha must pretend to be in a relationship. The press is happy, their teammates are thrilled for them... and it's going to kill Steve.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Muccamukk](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muccamukk/gifts).



> It's time for some 3490 fake dating! This is set toward the end of Avengers v3, assuming a universe where something like the events of v3 happened on Earth-3490 -- although nothing that actually happens during this story actually happened in v3. Comics. Whatever. I've never written 3490 before! Whee!
> 
> Thanks to ranoutofrun for beta.

The newspaper hit the breakfast table with a rustle, a noise that was much less damning than Steve's overanxious mind thought it should have merited. It needed a heavy thud. A death knell.

CAP AND IRON WOMAN: LOVE IS IN THE AIR, the tabloid headline said. EXCLUSIVE INTERVIEW WITH CAPTAIN AMERICA, it said beneath that, in smaller type. Underneath that, there was an obviously manipulated photo, of him and Natasha at one of her society galas, him gazing deeply into her eyes, his hand on her back drawing her close, and he hadn't, and he wouldn't, no matter how much he wanted to, he wouldn't ever, because she didn't want him--

"I can explain," Steve said, desperately.

"I can also explain," Natasha said, and the corners of her lips twitched in a suppressed smile. "My explanation is that the media are inveterate gossip hounds and there's nothing people like more than speculating on the Avengers' sex lives. Especially mine. Such as it is." Her voice was matter-of-fact and somehow kind, the way she'd always been to him, ever since the Avengers found him all those years ago. "Though I have to say that now I'm really interested in _your_ explanation, Winghead, because you look like you think I'm about to call a team meeting and have you struck from the ranks."

She pulled out the chair opposite him and took a seat. Far from the perfectly-coiffed socialite on the newspaper cover, this morning Natasha was wearing ratty jeans and an ancient MIT sweatshirt. Her long dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail. She didn't appear to be wearing makeup. There was a smudge of grease on her cheekbone, the imprint of safety goggles under her eyes, and a butterfly bandage -- a souvenir from their run-in with Red Skull at the Pentagon -- on her temple.

Another man out of time, another traveler from the forties, might have looked at Natasha Stark and said that they never used to make dames like her.

(She'd probably have punched him. She had a hell of a right hook.)

Steve knew the truth, though: they'd never made _anyone_ like her. Man or woman. Not then, not now, not ever.

She was brilliant. It was a word people sometimes tossed around without thinking about what it meant, exactly, but Natasha Stark was _brilliant_. For Steve's money, she was the smartest person on Earth, no matter what they said about Reed Richards. She'd built the armor. She'd built the team's gear, back at the beginning. Anything she could dream up, she could build. Computers. Jet airplanes. Repulsor gauntlets. Everything Steve had once read about in sci-fi magazines. Heck, she'd told him that once she'd built a time machine, and she hadn't been kidding.

She was kind, too. Generous. She'd done so much for him, for the Avengers, for the world. Even when the world had treated her like dirt, because she'd dared to be a successful woman, dared to make mistakes, dared to be rich and famous and less than perfect... she'd still saved them. She'd saved everyone, dozens of times, hundreds of times, because it was the right thing to do. She was under consideration for Secretary of Defense -- and she wanted it not because she craved political power, like someone else might, but because she could save people. She'd always been a hero. His hero.

They'd been teammates for a decade, the best of friends. She could always cheer him up, bring him out of one of his sulks, even if sometimes they disagreed in the field. They understood each other. She made him smile. She made him laugh. And in her suit -- or, heck, even out of it -- she was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, and he'd always been proud to fight alongside her.

And, yeah, she was pretty. Of course she was pretty. She was beautiful. Steve wasn't blind. But he'd fallen in love with her when she'd been standing there on that submarine, in a six-foot-tall suit of armor, and he hadn't quite been sure there was a person in the suit, much less a woman. He'd already fallen for her long before seeing her all dolled up for a night on the town, like she was on the front page of the paper on the table. It just... wasn't about that.

But she didn't want him. Not like that. He'd seen who she dated. Tiberius Stone. Rumiko Fujikawa. Fellow billionaire industrialist geniuses, or those in their circles. No one like him.

It had been ten years. She obviously wasn't interested. It was all right. It was, he told himself. He could deal. They were friends. It was fine.

Natasha was still looking at him, eyebrow raised. Then she flipped the paper open to the interview.

"'I love her,'" she read, her voice dry.

Steve coughed. "That was taken out of context." He sighed. "They asked for my thoughts on the team. I think I said I loved your tactical ability."

Natasha clicked out the side of her mouth. "Yeah, that sounds like something you'd say."

"It doesn't mean anything," he said, again with desperation, because it didn't, but it did, and God, what a mess this was.

She was still reading the article. "No," she said absently. "Don't worry. I know." And then she looked up and there was that familiar, sharp, _dangerous_ grin on her face, the one that usually resulted in him yelling _hey, no, Shellhead, don't you dare_ over the team comms.

"Um," Steve said. He tried to swallow. It didn't help.

Natasha tapped her fingers against her chin. "Just wondering. Do you still have a tux?"

"Yes," Steve said, suspiciously. "Why?"

Her grin was broader. "You love me. You said so. You're gonna be my date."

When he'd thought about Natasha returning his feelings, there'd been a lot of scenarios that he'd played out in his head over the years. Late night conversations in the lab turned to something more. Sparring sessions, transformed. Maybe even him rescuing her, though privately he knew she'd hate that. He hadn't ever thought about it happening like this.

"What?" He stared. "I. You. Tasha. What?"

"This is obviously worth a date." She tapped the paper with one finger. She always kept her nails short. Then she sighed, grinned again, and took pity on him. "Oh, God, Steve, your _face_. Charity gala. You. Me. Art. I need a date. I hear you like art, and I think you owe me one for this. I mean, look at that photoshop job." She made a face at the paper, where there was another picture of him with his arms around her, something that had never happened, not like that. "Come on, what do you say?"

It wasn't a real date. It was just publicity.

This was basically his fault. The least he could do was go with her.

"I do like art," he admitted. She knew that.

Natasha clapped her hands. "Great. See you Friday."

* * *

"How about it?" Natasha asked, and there came the sound of her shoes on the staircase. "Do I pass inspection, Captain?"

Steve looked up and promptly swallowed his tongue.

Natasha was standing in the foyer, and she obligingly pirouetted, making it look easy in those ridiculously high heels. She was wearing, Steve thought, something from Jan's last collection -- a backless, floor-length shimmering gown, in her favorite dark red, a dress that clung to her body and lent curves to her wiry frame. There was a slit up the side, exposing one elegant leg. But Steve, as always, admired her biceps. She was strong; she built armor with her own two hands, and she was in combat every week, so of course she needed to be. Her shoulders were bare; the dress was a halter-neck, because after that mess with the Sentient Armor she'd stopped wearing anything with much of a neckline in public, the better to conceal the charging port for her heart. (Steve absolutely wouldn't have minded, but then, it wasn't his place to decide.)

She had her hair in one of those fancy styles, braided and tucked and pulled up onto her head. Other than the dark lipstick to match her dress, her makeup was of the artful sort that was meant to look like she wasn't wearing any.

She was gorgeous. She was always gorgeous, no matter what she had on, but now he could pretend that she'd decided to dress up like that for him, especially for him. Which, of course, she hadn't.

He cleared his throat. "Uh. Yeah. Yes. You pass."

_Real smooth, Rogers._

Natasha stared back, and for an instant it seemed she was looking at him like he'd been looking at her, like there could be more to this, like she liked what she saw.

"You're not half-bad yourself," she murmured, with a smile. Her gaze took in all of him, standing there in his tux, hands behind his back, and then she looked down at his feet and frowned. "Oh, come on, Cap!" she exclaimed. "Really? _Really_? On a _date_?"

He looked down at the battered portfolio case sitting at his feet. They both knew what was in there.

"Look," he said, a little defensively, "I've been on enough dates to know that they have a tendency to end... badly. If there are going to be supervillains, I at least want to be armed."

She paused, then nodded. "Fine. But I'm not carrying it."

"I wasn't asking you to," Steve said, a bit more firmly than he'd meant to, and God, he'd never been able to talk to women, had he? It wasn't fair. Natasha was probably his best friend, but as soon as it was a date, he turned into an awkward, awful version of himself, and this wasn't even a real date.

But Natasha, bless her, didn't even seem to mind. He picked up the portfolio case, and when he straightened up, Natasha had slipped one of her hands around his other arm.

He tried not to shiver. She smelled so nice. She was standing so close to him.

She'd painted her nails, he noted, inanely. Sparkling gold. Of course.

"Come on," she said. "Relax. Breathe. Happy's out front. By the time we get there, we'll be fashionably late."

"You want to be late?"

She grinned. "I get to walk in on Captain America's arm. You better believe I want everyone looking at me. We get one date, and I intend to take advantage of it."

 _It doesn't have to be just one date_ , Steve thought, and he shut his eyes.

He wanted this to be real.

It wasn't.

* * *

The gala was exactly what he'd expected. Steve had been to quite a few of these shindigs before -- although, granted, he'd never come as Natasha’s date -- so it wasn't as if the rarefied world of the rich and famous was entirely unfamiliar. They were in a huge ballroom; the walls that weren't floor-to-ceiling windows were lined with art he would have liked to have taken a better look at, but of course, everyone else in the room was looking at the two of them: Captain America and Iron Woman. They knew now that it was her in the armor. It probably made them even more interesting: two Avengers, on a date.

There were trays of food, drinks that he declined for both of them until he found a server with water -- Natasha had smiled gratefully -- and mostly, there was talk. Steve smiled and shook hands. He knew how to do this part.

There was a string quartet playing in the corner, near a small dance floor, and Steve didn't quite understand what was going on until Natasha was tugging him away from an older couple who owned some kind of charitable foundation... and toward the dance floor. Oh, God.

"Tasha," he said, distressed, as she kept pulling. "Tasha, please. You know this isn't really my kind of thing--"

She smiled that smile that he could never, ever resist, and damn her, she knew it. "Humor me, Cap. One dance. For our date."

It wasn't that he couldn't dance. It wasn't that he didn't dance. It was just that it wasn't real, and he knew it wasn't real, and it was too much like everything he wanted. 

But it was Natasha asking, and he could almost, almost pretend that she wanted this too.

So he stifled the wistful sigh that desperately wanted to come out of his mouth, and he followed her, because he always followed her, didn't he?

They turned to each other on the dance floor, and he reached out and drew her close, splaying his hand over the middle of her back. Her skin was soft and warm, and he resolutely didn't think about what it would be like to slide his hand lower.

"There we go," Natasha said, with a smile, and as she reached for his other hand she poked him lightly in the wrist. "Geez, Winghead, loosen up. You look like you're facing a firing squad. You'd think a pretty girl had never asked you to dance before."

" _You've_ never," he managed to say, as he swung them into a very, very stilted dance step.

"Mmm," she said. "A terrible omission on my part, then. Seriously, though." Her smile was encouraging. "Come on. It's just me."

"It's just you," he repeated, and she smiled again, and she moved with him.

She was an exceptionally good dancer; Steve suspected she'd had years and years of lessons. She managed to make him feel a little less like he had two left feet; her grace covered for his utter lack, and by the end it started to seem like he was improving.

He wanted to do this again.

He wanted to do this for the rest of his life.

"See?" Natasha said. They hadn't spoken for the entire dance. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"No," he admitted. "It was pretty good."

She laughed. "And from you, that's high praise." And then she was looping both her arms around his neck, pulling him down a little as the quartet struck up the next piece, which was distinctly slower. More romantic. "So, can I talk you into another dance?"

Natasha was tall; in heels, she was even taller, practically at eye level with him. She was gazing into his eyes. Just a little closer, and they could be kissing--

"Come on, Steve," she breathed. "You know you want to--"

And then the entire bank of floor-to-ceiling windows shattered.

"Oh, hell," Natasha said, and she broke away and spun around, taking three steps toward the disturbance even as the rest of the room echoed with shouts of fright and distress. "So much for the date."

Half the people on the other side of the broken glass were blue-skinned, all armored, and he heard Natasha swear as the same thing occurred to her.

"Kree soldiers!" he yelled, over the din. "They're a little far from home, Tasha!"

"Gosh, you think?" she yelled back. Danger usually made her sarcastic.

She was already kicking out of her heels to stand barefoot on the floor, and he hoped that this time she'd stay away from the damn broken glass. She'd been carrying a tiny purse, dangling from her shoulder. As she dumped out the contents she opened something flat and red-gold, shining metal. Steve's first thought was _makeup compact_ but then she slapped it on the back of her hand and it grew, metal plates sliding down to her fingertips and up to her elbow. Her palm was glowing blue.

"Miniature repulsor gauntlet," she said, and her smile was all teeth. "You like it?"

He grabbed a tray from the nearest server and threw the whole thing at the Kree. It didn't really sail like his shield did, but it was probably worth a few seconds of distraction.

"And you made fun of me for bringing my shield, huh?"

"Yeah," she retorted, digging through her purse for her Avengers identicard, and for another sleek metallic device he didn't recognize, "but _my_ weapon at least fit in my purse. Go get your shield from the coatroom, Cap, I'll cover you--"

She was already shoving him in the direction of the doors.

"Everyone get back!" he yelled, as he ran, and the terrified crowd parted before him.

He heard the sound of repulsors behind him and grinned. Yeah, Natasha knew what she was doing.

In barely a minute -- strangely, the coat check attendant hadn't even needed his tag -- he was flipping the case open. He grabbed the shield and ran.

The tables at the edge of the ballroom had been pushed over, for cover, and Natasha had herded most of the crowd behind them. He found her at the farthest table, yelling into her identicard. Her dress was ripped up the side even more and her hair was hanging in her face, but thank God, it didn't look like she was visibly injured. He ducked down next to her.

"Hey, Warbird!" she was calling out. "Come on, it's a Kree thing. We could really use you."

"Five minutes," came Carol's tinny voice. "Scrambling the team now."

"Right, thanks," Natasha said. "The Quinjet can keep a lock on the card." And then she looked up and grinned, a small, deadly smile, and Steve couldn't help but think that her best look was clearly the middle of a firefight. "Oh, hey, Cap, you made it. If you didn't hear, it's five minutes for the team." She made a face at the other metallic device, clutched to her identicard. "And ten for the armor. I have got to work on that."

She'd added a homing device to the current armor model just before that Red Zone mess, she'd said. It was clearly still rudimentary.

"Okay," he said. "We'll stall them for five minutes, then." He gestured to the Kree in front, presumably the leader. "I can take out that guy with--"

"I have a better idea," she said, and she was standing up, and what the hell was she thinking? She wasn't even in armor--

"Tasha--"

"I say we draw fire," she snarled, and she was on her feet, repulsor charging up. "Keep all of their attention on us. Cover me."

He sighed. She always did this. She always, always did this.

He raised his shield, pushed himself to his feet and, like he always did, he followed Natasha into battle.

* * *

Five minutes later, Natasha had shot about ten of the Kree, and Steve had personally rendered unconscious three of them who had been aiming at Natasha.

There was a bright glow of photons out the window. Natasha turned, and one blue-skinned warrior saw his chance, raising his weapon--

"Tasha, duck!" he called out, and he was already throwing the shield.

She didn't even flinch; she just dropped to the floor, fast, as his shield went sailing where her head had been, to collide with the Kree warrior behind her. He went down.

"Hey, thanks!" she yelled back, grinning.

That was when Carol flew through the broken window, with the rest of the Avengers on her heels.

Carol was glowing golden, and she took out three Kree with a lazy wave of her hand as she floated to Steve's side.

"Evening, Cap," Carol said, cheerfully, as she spun in midair and punched the warrior behind her. Then she seemed to take in the mess he'd made of his tux as well as Natasha's disheveled appearance, because she winced. "Oof. Sorry for ruining your date."

"It wasn't a date," he said, probably too fast. "It-- we-- I mean, I-- no."

Carol just grinned. 

He thought Natasha probably hadn't heard, because she didn't say anything.

* * *

The fight was over. Medical personnel had shown up for the civilians, the news crews were on site, and the rest of the superheroes were trying to figure out what to do with all the Kree. And Natasha came walking up to him, still barefoot, gingerly holding her dress up, and then she looked up and grinned. It was a familiar, tired smile, the post-battle adrenaline crash.

"What a night, huh?" Steve said.

"Eh," she said, with the blasé weariness that came from a decade of Avenging. It took a lot more than that to shock Natasha Stark. "It's just Friday."

"Yeah," Steve agreed. "You should see Saturdays, Shellhead, if you really want wild."

She laughed, a quiet, joyful sound, and as always Steve was glad that he made her laugh. "But, really," she added. "I wanted to thank you for saving me. There were a few tight spots back there."

"No problem." He smiled. "I'd save you any day of the week. You know that."

"Even Saturday?" Her eyes sparkled.

Now it was his turn to laugh. "Especially Saturday."

"My hero," she breathed, almost simperingly, a parody of other people throwing themselves at him, and he had to laugh because it wasn't like she wasn't still standing there wearing a repulsor gauntlet. Natasha could take care of herself just fine.

And then his breath caught in his throat as she flung her arms around him and pulled herself close; there was bare skin and a metal gauntlet pressing into the back of his neck. Her eyes were wide and dark, and she leaned in and _kissed him_ and it was a joke, he knew it was a joke, but oh God it had gone too far, and why wasn't he pushing her away?

His arms went around her. He was kissing her back. He wasn't pushing her away.

Natasha's mouth was soft and sweet, better than he'd dreamed--

A camera shutter clicked.

Natasha jumped in his arms and drew back.

She turned, now facing away from the press photographer who was staring at them, open-mouthed in awe, like he could measure his future in dollar signs. His camera dangled from his neck. Exclusive superhero snaps. Steve could picture the headlines, now. His stomach plummeted. And somehow he was still holding Natasha.

 _Oh, shit_ , Natasha mouthed.

Steve concurred.

* * *

The picture on the front page the next morning was definitely not fake. It was unmistakably him, and unmistakably Natasha, and they were unmistakably kissing.

Natasha had come down for breakfast about five minutes after he had -- much earlier than she usually did, and thankfully, earlier than the rest of the team, who were still asleep and, thus, hadn't seen the papers yet.

They had to figure something out, fast.

"I'm so sorry," he said, and he couldn't meet her eyes, but it wasn't like looking at the paper was any better. "Tasha, I never meant to take advantage of you--"

"You didn't. It wasn't your fault," she said, and she sounded miserable. "Hell, I know you didn't even want to." _I did_ , he couldn't say. "I just... I don't know, I thought I was being funny. I'm sorry."

It wasn't real. It had never been real.

Steve sighed. "We have to come up with something to say to everyone. Probably not that."

She was silent for a long time. "You're not going to like the only idea I've got."

He looked up. Her face was perfectly still.

"I've got nothing," he admitted. "So let's hear it."

She bit her lip. "I'm not currently seeing anyone. And you're not seeing anyone, right?"

Oh, no.

"Tasha--"

"I'm not saying we should have a fake relationship _forever_ ," she said, like somehow this was supposed to be some kind of compromise. "Just, you know, maybe a few weeks. Until the media gets bored. Then you can dump me. I can give you a list of everything my exes usually hate about me. You know, for verisimilitude."

"Tasha." He couldn't do this. He really couldn't do this.

"We'll have a big public fight, if you want."

He didn't want that. Not at all. He wanted this for real, and now he could never tell her.

"You're talking about fooling everyone," he shot back. "You're talking about our friends. We can't just-- we can't just deceive our teammates-- they'll know we're lying--

She laid her bruised hand on his arm, and he shut his mouth.

"Steve," she said, with a faint smile, "I think you'll be very surprised by what they can believe about us."

* * *

Everyone believed them.

All the Avengers, even the ones Steve had known for close to a decade now -- they all believed them. Clint laughed and clapped him on the back when he heard; later that day, they were in the Combat Simulation Room, and he asked if everything they said about Natasha in bed was true, even the really kinky stuff. Steve stopped dead, failed to block the next laser, and then put Clint down for a week of extra sparring practice. Carol congratulated them both. Jan and Jen bumped each other's fists. Wanda pronounced it as "excessively probable." And she was one to know about probabilities, of course.

 _No_ , he wanted to say. _You were supposed to see through this_.

Steve threw his hands up in despair when T'Challa, of all people, sent a congratulatory video message.

"Huh," Natasha said, watching the recording play out, over Steve's shoulder. "I think that's the nicest he's been to me all year. Clearly I should have fake-dated you a long time ago."

He imagined telling them all. He'd tell them before the staged breakup.

That night he retreated to his room, and he sat down hard on his empty bed and wondered what the hell he was thinking. He only had a few seconds to contemplate that before there was a knock on the door.

Natasha's voice was a little muffled. "Don't you miss me, Cap?"

 _Yes_.

"Come on in," he said. "It's open."

She shut the door behind herself and locked it. She had a complicated tangle of wires tucked under one arm, and she waved a hand at herself. "Don't mind me," she said. "I've got to go charge, but I figured it would look better for the cover story if I came by first. Besides, I usually come by." She frowned. "Don't I?"

"You do," he said. She was his friend. They were friends. It didn't mean anything.

"So I'll just stay here a bit," she said, and she was scrubbing at her scalp, messing up her hair, and Steve finally understood that she was trying to make it look like they were up to something. "I don't know. How long would you spend making out with me? Hypothetically?"

 _Forever_.

He coughed and frantically cast about for something else to say that wasn't that. "I like to take my time," he said, and too late, realized that he'd said something a little more revealing than he'd intended to.

Natasha grinned. "Lucky for your girlfriends, huh?"

"They don't," Steve began, and his voice was strangled. "They've never. Uh. Complained about me."

"I bet not," Natasha said, with a teasing envy in her tone, and then her hand went to her chest, rubbing at her sternum, and Steve was halfway across the room, arms outstretched.

"Tasha!"

"I'm okay," she said, but her hand was still on her chest and she looked far too pale. "I really do have to go charge up now."

"You could stay here and charge?" he offered, and then he wondered if that sounded like a come-on.

Of course, to Natasha, anything could be, and she rattled out a wheezy laugh. "You want to get my top off already? Cap! So much I didn't know about you!" Her mouth twitched as she teased him. "You don't want to watch, I promise. There's screaming. It's messy. Ugh. No."

There was _screaming_? "Tasha--"

"I'll be fine." She opened the door. "Night, sweetheart!" she called from the hallway -- because of course everyone could hear her in the hall. And then she blew him a kiss and shut the door.

Steve sighed and dropped back onto the bed.

Only a few weeks. He could do this.

* * *

In public, they held hands, now.

They did everything else they normally did, the way they normally did it. The unfortunate slip at the gala aside, Steve wasn't much for kissing in public. But they held hands.

It would have been just like this, Steve thought, if it were real.

* * *

On Wednesday, Natasha put her hands on her hips and stared at the morning headlines with satisfaction. "Do you know," she said, "that this relationship is actually making me look better for that Cabinet position?" She actually sounded impressed. "Apparently you're a 'stabilizing influence.'" She lifted her hands to make quotation marks in the air. "Way to go. Thanks, Winghead."

"Happy to help," Steve said, a little more dryly than he meant to. He didn't think Natasha noticed.

* * *

On Friday, he went out to lunch with Carol, ostensibly because he wanted to make sure someone else on the team could review the new training routines, but mostly because he needed a break from being spotted with Natasha. He was pretty sure this was going to lead to TROUBLE IN PARADISE headlines anyway; it wasn't like those weren't paparazzi at the next table over.

"So," he said, louder than he needed to for just Carol to hear, "I hope we're both enjoying this _strictly business, Avengers working lunch_."

Carol laughed and shook her head. "No good, Cap. You'll have to take Tasha out again to get them to stop talking."

Steve sighed. "Yeah, fine. I guess I could ask her out for dinner." It wasn't that it was a bad idea, or something that they'd never done, before; it was just one more hour that he'd have to spend, pretending that the thing he most wanted to happen was true, when it could never be.

Carol squinted at him. "You seem kind of sad. I mean, you and Tasha, finally together! That's gotta make you happy, right?" She grinned. "Come on, I've seen how you two have been looking at each other for years."

For... years? And what did Carol mean, _you two_? It had been just him; it had to have been just him. There'd have been nothing to see from Natasha, obviously. Of course.

"What do you mean?" His voice was unsteady. "What do you mean, how we've been looking at each other? She... liked me? Before?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, God, I sure hope so, don't you?" Carol was still squinting, dubiously, like she couldn't believe she had to explain this. "She didn't tell you? She talked about you all the time, Cap. Ever since I joined the Avengers. She used to say how she loved--"

Carol didn't finish her sentence, because the cafe window shattered. Steve was out of his seat in an instant, and there were the unfortunately-familiar shapes of armored Kree, stepping inside.

"Jesus Christ, is this going to be every week?" Carol asked, and she raised a crackling, golden fist. "The Lunatic Legion was bad enough."

The Kree in front took a few steps forward. "Humans!" he announced. "You will come with us. All of you. The Kree Empire requires servants."

The lead Kree pulled his facemask back down and-- oh God, not gas, not gas. The room was rapidly filling with purple smoke.

No problem, he thought, dazed. He was superhuman. It wouldn't affect him. It really wouldn't affect him.

He was dizzy.

Next to him, Carol collapsed. Everyone else was already down.

He pulled his identicard out of one of his pouches, tapped it, and opened his mouth. He had to tell the team. He had to warn them. _Tasha--_

Before he could speak, everything went black.

* * *

He couldn't move. He opened his eyes. He was in a tiny pod, and -- he gave another tug on the restraints -- he was held fast, arms and legs pinned down. There was clear glass just in front of his face, and he could barely make out, through the glass, a cavernous room of identical pods, rows and rows of them. He had to get out of here.

He tried to jerk forward again, and everything wobbled dizzily around him when he did. He was so tired.

There was a hissing noise, and the air was filled with a purple mist once again.

 _Oh, God, not more gas_ , he thought.

He held his breath, but it was too late. He'd already breathed some in. The world began to slip away from him.

There was a roaring sound, somewhere far away, and outside his tiny prison, the world exploded into fire.

He ought to stay awake for this, he thought groggily, but he couldn't keep his eyes open-- he couldn't--

* * *

He jerked awake to the sound of a horrible metallic crunch.

"Cap?" The mechanical tones were achingly familiar. Natasha's voice. Natasha in her armor. "Hey, Cap! Are you all right? Talk to me, Cap! Steve! Steve!"

"Mmm," Steve said, and he couldn't summon up the energy even to open his eyes.

"--got everyone else out," Natasha was saying, and he thought maybe he'd passed out again. "Warbird's outside with the rest of the people they kidnapped, but I'm going to be pissed if you don't wake up and say something. Okay, Steve? Come on. Please."

There was pressure at his wrists, pressure and smooth metal. She was ripping the restraints off.

He took a breath and opened his eyes. Natasha had the faceplate of her suit pushed back now, and she was staring at him, her face too pale.

"Oh, thank God," she murmured.

And then there were gauntleted hands on either side of his head, and she was kissing him. It wasn't anything like the joking kiss that had gotten them into so much trouble. This was real. She tasted like metal and blood and bad coffee, which was pretty much the way he would have expected her to taste in the middle of a fight. She was leaning into him, the plates of her armor digging into his side, and she was holding him like she never wanted to let go.

She drew back and blinked.

"Um," she said, very quietly, and she bit her lip.

Steve glanced left and right. The room was empty.

She hadn't done this for an audience. This wasn't part of the fake relationship.

"Carol said you've always been in love with me," he blurted out, which probably hadn't been the best thing to say but was probably better than _do that again right now please_.

"Did she?" Natasha asked. "Traitor." She tried to smile, but her heart clearly wasn't in it.

"In her defense, I think she thought we were actually together."

Natasha sighed. "Look," she said, "it was a shitty move, Steve, and I'm sorry. We both know I'm kind of a shitty person anyway, right?"

"Tasha--"

"I just," she said, looking away. "You weren't ever-- you don't-- it was my one chance, and I took it, even if it was fake, and I know you don't-- you've seen me at my absolute worst and you can't possibly-- I'm nowhere near good enough for you, even if you did--"

And then he figured out why she was apologizing. "Oh," he breathed. "You think I don't like you?"

Her head snapped up. "Steve?" An incredulous smile was starting to spread across her bruised face, and Steve thought she had never, ever been more beautiful.

This time, he kissed her first.

* * *

Natasha rolled over lazily and stretched, exposing one bare shoulder -- and then the rest of herself, as she slid out from under the sheet. Steve had long since closed the curtains, but a sliver of light fell through the gap at the edge, striping over Natasha's hip. The view was breathtaking.

"Mmm," she said, and Steve felt a little warmer, hearing the lazy contentment in her voice. "You realize we can't ever tell the team we spent a week not really dating? We'd never live it down."

"Wasn't really thinking about the team right now," he said, and he kissed her again.

"Clint would mock you forever," she said into his mouth.

" _Really_ wasn't thinking about Clint right now," he said, and then he couldn't quite suppress a moan as she bit his neck, lightly.

"I've got it all worked out," she said, and she grinned at him, that familiar genius grin, that grin that said _I've got a plan_. "We just need to do something more outrageous and they'll be so distracted that they'll never think back on how strange we were acting this week."

"Oh?"

"I think if we tell them I'm getting married in the armor, they'll be plenty distracted."

They-- what-- _married_?

"I didn't even propose," he said, because for some reason that was the only objection he could think of. "Uh. Yet."

He was probably supposed to be terrified. Instead it just sounded like a really good idea. Clearly a decade as an Avenger had removed his ability to feel fear.

Natasha was still grinning. "That doesn't sound like a no to me."

"People are going to think it's awfully soon?" he tried.

"People," she said, definitively, "are going to think we've been as good as married for a goddamn decade." And then she rolled him over, pinned him to the bed, and he entirely forgot every other objection he had.

* * *

As it turned out, she did wear the armor.

And everything was finally, finally real.

**Author's Note:**

> Since basically the only thing we know about these two is that they got married, I figured, hey, why not go there?
> 
> The usual [Tumblr post](http://sineala.tumblr.com/post/155931178224/fic-the-nucleus-burning-inside-of-the-cell) is available for your Tumblr needs.


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